


Requiem for My Black Soul

by veriante



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Discussions of death, Grim Reaper Stephen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Requiem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-23 14:31:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20893631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veriante/pseuds/veriante
Summary: Prompt:Imagine Stephen is a Grim Reaper and Tony is about to die. So Stephen stays with him, ready to reap his Soul and lead it to the other side But he, simply, falls in love.- From descaladumidera from Tumblr~~~.... I saw it. I had to write it. The original prompt was a bit sad so I had to twist it a bit cause if you know me, you know I don't do sad eendings. Also, the whole 'one shot' thing didn't work out. So it's a two parter.Enjoy.





	1. Moonlight Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to Mozart's Requiem through writing the story. It was fantastic at setting the mood. Until I got to writing the smut. Which was a bit awkward.... *cough* 
> 
> But anyway! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy the twist and turns of my weird-ss imagining of Stephen Strange as a Grim Reaper. 
> 
> <3

The piece of paper flutters to his hand as he opens his palm. 

The spark of orange and gold of magic, the one that sets him apart from the others of his kind, reveals the name on the black parchment slowly as it burns the name across it in gold. 

_Anthony Edward Stark. Born 29 May 1970. Cause of death: Palladium Poisoning. _

He reads as an immaculate eyebrow rises. 

Palladium poisoning? That's new, he thinks as he tucks the order into the folds of his robe. Here and there, the others of his kind talk in the vast emptiness of the after world. 

There are excited gossips talking about one scandal or another. Yet another Grim Reaper has stolen a soul from Mistress Death's grasp, they murmur. Fell in love with a human, they disdain. 

He does not care. 

The gossips hadn't bothered him nor interested him when he had been alive and it does not bother him nor interest him now that he is dead and a cog in the wheel of death. 

It has been a difficult journey to go from a nameless, memoryless soul to recovering his name, his identity and being able to become something more than just another number. 

Dr Stephen Strange, Neurosurgeon. 

That is who he had been. But now he was known as the best Grim Reaper in the employ of Mistress Death and that is a position he holds with pride. 

There are benefits to his position that he quite enjoys. The power that courses through him with each non-breath he takes is one. The other is the luxury of time to conduct his business in the mortal realm. 

Unlike the others, bound by tight schedules and deadlines, Stephen can take his time, enjoying the sights, smells and sounds of the mortal realm even as seeks out his target and indulges in the hunt. 

The timing is good, Stephen thinks as he thinks over the last time he had been on the mortal realm. He had a few more books he had wanted to read. He'd just discovered a new author that had drawn his interest and the target this time lived in Los Angeles and they had a fantastic public library he can indulge himself in. 

He will draw this one out, Stephen thinks as he opens the portal between the dimensions with a casual wave his hand. There are surprised murmurs and gaps of admiration from those closest around him as he steps through the portal. 

Stephen hides the smirk as he steps through, the dark red Cloak of Levitation, a sign of the Mistress's favour, fluttering behind him. He wonders how long the idiots will gape for before they remember their duties. 

A while, he thinks sardonically as the portal closes behind him. 

~~~ 

"Sir, I believe that the device that is keeping you alive is also killing you." JARVIS tells him. Yeah. Duh, Tony thinks as he looks at the dark blue veins snaking along his chest from the Arc Reactor. 

It has kept him alive this long and that was something right? Tony thinks as he looks at himself and the Arc Reactor. Honestly, he had been ready to just lay down and die back in that dark cave in Afghanistan. He should just be grateful that he managed to survive this far and at least he got to sort things out before he goes right? 

All of those 'positive' thoughts do nothing to stop the anger and fear that burns through him. He's already had his cry. He's not going to indulge in that bullshit anymore. No. If Tony Stark was going to die, then he was going to do it on his terms and he was going to leave a goddamned legacy behind. 

That starts with Pepper and settling her into the position of CEO as his heir. That starts with ensuring that the world was going to have the continued protection of Iron Man by making sure that he finishes that suit for Rhodey. That starts with the Stark Expo so that he can excite the world and bring about a new era of innovation in science and technology. 

He's set out his will. He's put his affairs in order, as one would say. He's only 40 years old. He's too fucking young to die and this is fucking unfair. There is a corner of his mind that just wants to dwell in that thought and cry himself to stupor again. 

It's a part of him that he won't indulge. 

No. Instead, he was going to focus on being fucking productive, he reminds himself as he pulls the shirt down just as Pepper enters the room. 

Remember the plan, he tells himself. Drive her away. Make her angry and disappointed in him. Make her the CEO of Stark Industries and give her the reigns so that she can make the company and the world better without him. 

There are other innovators. Scientists, inventors and tech people that she can work with. Pepper will know what to do. She will use the money from the company to help those that were in need through the Maria Stark Foundation. 

Perhaps when he dies, she will change the name of the Foundation for him, make it Tony Stark Foundation. Nah. It's better if it's in his mother's name. She deserves that. But maybe she can set something else up for him. That would be nice, Tony thinks as Pepper strides into the room and he puts his game face on. 

This is going to be cruel, but necessary, he tells himself. 

It sounds like a lie. 

~~~ 

Stephen may indulge himself, but he is not an idiot. He keeps his eyes close on the target even as he takes in the pleasures of the mortal realm. 

He cloaks himself in the shadows and travels through the world. He doesn't require sleep, rest or food. That is not what he indulges in at any rate. 

He knows that some of his kind prefers to indulge in inhabiting a mortal body in order to feel the air pass through their lungs once again or to taste food or to enjoy the physical activities of sex, but Stephen doesn't. 

No. 

He remains in the shadows. He watches. He reads in the quiet corners of the library, floating above the heads of the people as he reads his fill of the books. He prefers to entertain his mind and fill his photographic memory with as many books as possible in every language he can read. 

Perhaps it's time to pick up another language, Stephen muses quietly to himself as he slips into the home of his target. He does not require the shadows per se, but the gigantic mansion is dark and that certainly helps. 

It takes some time for Stephen to find his target. 

When he does, he is somewhat surprised that the luxurious mansion is devoid of all life but his target. There are no servants, no guards, nothing. Just the target. 

It makes it easy for Stephen to follow the feel of that lonesome soul through the house until he reaches the bathroom of what he assumes is the master bedroom. The bed is far larger than any Stephen had seen before and the indulgent nature of the bed on top of everything else he had already seen makes Stephen roll his eyes as he follows the sounds of retching and misery to the bathroom. 

Palladium poisoning is most likely quite a painful way to die, Stephen thinks as he looks over the human emptying his stomach into the toilet bowl. There is a thin layer of sweat covering his brow that shows just how strenuous the act of throwing up is. 

Stephen can't quite recall what that feels like. He may have a photographic memory, but his memory of life isn't quite photographic. It is a memory that had once been reaped and recorded into the Book of the Dead before it had been recalled and given back to him. It's not perfect. 

More than that, the memories of experiences are the ones that are the first to fade and Stephen is quite glad that he doesn't recall this. It does not seem very pleasant at all. 

This is boring and distasteful to watch, Stephen thinks and he is about to walk away when the man lifts his head and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand with distaste. As he does though, Stephen could have sworn that their eyes met. The man looks up directly where he is standing, though Stephen knows that the man does not see him. 

"JARVIS, order more of that chlorophyll and let's run another test on replacement elements." The man's raspy voice says but Stephen can barely pay attention to that. 

This mortal had one of the most beautiful eyes he had ever seen. The warm caramel brown, even etched with pain and anguish, watering with the strain of his actions, is stunningly beautiful. 

Unlike what he had initially thought, Stephen does not leave. Instead, he remains, hidden in the shadows as the man flushes the toilet and walks into the shower, dressed still in jeans and a t-shirt and turns the water on. 

Stephen expects the shower to fog up, but it doesn't. 

The water that pours over the man's head is cold, he realises as the man sits on the floor of the shower, his head thrown back so that the water can fall upon his face. The first sob that escapes the man's lips doesn't surprise Stephen. 

This isn't the first soul he has reaped. 

This won't be the first soul that knows that they are dying and mourns the loss for their lives, nor will it be his last. But this is the first that has done so in a manner that is so heartbreakingly beautiful. Or it would be, if he had a heart that still beat. 

Stephen moves instead to get a better view of the man as he weeps. His tears, Stephen can't see and he is annoyed that the man's eyes are closed as the water falls upon him, but he does get a good view of the long neck stretched to tilt the head back and the ruggedly handsome features. 

The thin t-shirt the man had been wearing becomes wet and sticks to his skin and shows off the bright light of the machine that no doubts powers his heart and holds back the shrapnel that threatens to move towards his heart at any given moment, and the delicious lines of a well toned body. 

Stephen does not usually do this, watch humans like this with his eyes travelling up and down their body, taking in all the delicious details, but he can't help himself. Not with a target this beautiful. 

It is just a short lived moment though. 

Soon enough, Stephen will have had his fill of it and he will move on. He will go back to the library so that he can sink into books that he could entertain his mind with. Eternity was boring without entertainments and he had the luck of having the photographic memory to record the books he reads into. 

There is only one library in the after world and the vast infinite space of the Library of the Dead only holds the memories of the dead. Nothing more and nothing less. 

Stephen does not care to read the stories of mortals and their boring, mundane lives. Oh, every now and then there are the extraordinary humans that do require a read or two, but Stephen doesn't quite have the patience to shift through the thousands of the boring ones to find the extraordinary. 

Mortal books are easier. They have summaries and genres and it has been all too easy after the invention of Google to find the books that interest him. 

"Sir, should I turn the hot water on?" The disembodied voice asks. Oh, Stephen thinks with some surprise. Which in itself is a surprise. 

An Artificial Intelligence system throughout the house? How futuristic! Stephen thinks with some delight and though he had turned to leave, he turns back around to watch the man's reaction. 

"N-No. I'm- Turn it off J." The man's voice is barely audible over the water, but the computer system seems to hear it as the water turns off. In the blessed silence, the man stands up and with quick and graceful movements, strips. 

Stephen watches with some approval as the man's sculpted body is revealed before his eyes. The toned torso he had only glimpsed through the soaked through t-shirt is even more well defined and built than what the shirt had hinted at. 

The shirt lands on the floor with a wet flop as the man swiftly takes his pants off as well. Stephen's eyebrow rises as he notes that the man is most definitely not wearing underwear and though the cold has had an effect on him from what Stephen could see, the man's lower half was just as well toned and though he was lightly tanned, there was not a single tan line to be seen. 

He really is quite a fine specimen, Stephen thinks as he admires the view. The man's body trembles lightly as he steps out of the shower, leaving the wet clothes behind him as he moves to grab a towel. 

As he does, Stephen is treated to the view of the man's behind and Stephen hungrily admires the firm buttocks and wonders what they would feel like under his hands. 

As that thought crosses his mind, Stephen starts. 

He has not had such a thought for decades. He shakes his head firmly and tears his eyes away. 

Behaviour like this is what leads to those fools giving up the immortal existence of being a Reaper by falling in love with a soul they are meant to Reap. 

  
Stephen is not a fool. He turns his back and blends into the shadows till he is no longer at the mansion. 

~~~ 

Stephen doesn't return to his target for days. He is not comfortable with the way that the target has made him feel and the memories that he had brought back up into the surface of his mind had left Stephen... uncomfortable. 

Discomfort is not something Stephen is used to anymore. It is not what he wants to feel and think about. 

So he had returned to the library and buried himself into the books. He curled himself up into the rafters, where the warm sunlight came through and gave him the best reading light, a place he had sat in many a time before on his visits to the mortal realm and read. 

Or at least he tried to. 

Every so often, the image of Anthony Edward Stark would poke it's head into Stephen's brain and it had been an exercise in futility to truly make himself forget what he had seen. How could he when he has a perfect photographic memory? 

In the end, Stephen returns to the mansion because he knows that he _has_ to do his task. perhaps once he had Reaped the soul and brought it back to Mistress Death, he would be put the images curling up in his mind. 

Stephen lurks in the shadows once again. It is late at night and the mansion is once again dark. Stephen does not owe this soul any mercy, but he does consider giving the man the peaceful death of being Reaped in his sleep, but Stephe's plans are foiled. 

As he walks into the mansion, blending into the shadows, he finds the man seated at the white grand piano near the patio. The soft light of the full moon outside is the only thing that illuminates the man, along with the device in his chest. 

The soft eerie glows of the white lights reflect off the piano and if Stephen still breathed, his breath would have been taken away. As it is, he feels his eyes going wide as he looks at the image of beauty and ethereal magic that the man seems to form. 

The calloused fingers of a man that works with his hands dance across the keys and the man had been dressed in formal attire that night. Stephen can see it from the way that a black bow tie hangs from his neck and the black tuxedo pants. 

But the white business shirt is undone to leave the glowing device very much visible along with a great deal of the man's chest and neck. 

His eyes are closed again, which is annoying, since Stephen would much rather see those oddly beautiful caramel brown eyes again. 

  
The music the man is producing is something that Stephen recognises. It's impossible not to recognise the familiar tune of Mozart's Requiem in D Minor, though Stephen has not heard it on the piano before. Without the rise and fall of the strings and the complex mix of their melodies, the impact is missing but the emotions are all the more... stark. 

There is a loneliness to the solo melody when it is meant to rise together in harmony. As alone and lonely as this man is as he sits by himself in the dark of his home, surrounded by the emptiness instead of loved ones as he laments. 

Stephen has meant to Reap his soul tonight. 

The Requiem that he plays could be the final song to echo in his ears as his life ends, Stephen thinks but he can't. There is something so ethereal and beautiful about this moment and this man that he cannot bring himself to summon the Scythe to him and to Reap the man's soul, ripping it from his body. 

He won't feel any pain. Stephen knows that. But there is something almost sacred about this moment that Stephen cannot interrupt it. He cannot break it with an act as ugly and permanent as death. 

Stephen steps back into the shadows. 

  
The haunting and lonely memories play on as Stephen fades into the darkness once again. 

~~~ 

It's done. 

The Expo has been opened. 

Pepper is disappointed with him but she was the CEO of the company and after the mess he has left it, she was welcomed with open arms and the Board was overboard with joy with her so yeah. That's done. 

Rhodey is angry with him for refusing to work with the military after the stunt they pulled with the whole Senate Hearing thing. That's fine. He has the suit for Rhodey ready to go and he really shouldn't be using the suit anymore if he wanted to extend what little life he had left. 

Tony is exhausted. 

The chlorophyll wasn't having much of an effect and the poisoning was starting to take a heavy toll on his body and mind. The dizziness was difficult to deal with, especially in the mornings and though he adjusted slowly but surely to feeling dizzy and unsteady every now and then and he'd even adjusted to the nausea, it doesn't mean that it's easy. 

He hates it. 

He hates all of it and he just wants to quit being sick if he can. He can't. Being sick isn't a game one can just quit at. The only white towel he can throw in is to accept the death that he knows is coming. He's done that. Sort of. 

The only question is deciding what he was going to do with the last few weeks he has left on this planet. 

With that thought in mind, Tony dresses. 

He doesn't dress in the suits and the clothes he knows he will get recognised in. No. Instead, he picks a pair of worn down jeans that he knows are just tight enough to be interesting without being obscene. 

He picks the black shirt that will hide the light from the Arc Reactor. He puts the magnetic cover over the Arc Reactor too, just in case. Not that he plans to let anyone take his shirt off. he puts on a pair of dark sunglasses and he leaves the mansion in his least flashy car. 

It's night but he lives in Los Angeles. Sunglasses at night are for douchebags anywhere else, but in the bright neon lit streets of downtown LA? It's almost mandatory. 

Tony parks the car in the car park he really shouldn't be so fucking familiar with, but is. He parks the car and walks into the bar that he would not be caught dead in if he thought anyone would actually recognise him. 

He slides into the corner stool and he looks around. 

He's done this far, far more times than he is proud of. But he can't help himself. Tonight, he wants to feel alive and there was no convenient gala or charity function he can pull from. 

Besides, they come with strings and right now, he wants no strings. He doesn't want names. He just wants someone hot and willing and he wants mindless. 

It doesn't take long for a slim tall man to come and sit next to him on the stool, perching barely on thing as if he won't give the seat the pleasure of his full attention. 

Tony takes in the slim figure as he takes in the tight lines of his black slacks, the black business shirt and the black business jacket. Everything is tailored perfectly to show off just how toned and slender the lines of his body is. 

Tony can't help but look over the figure hungrily as his eyes reach and meet the most hauntingly beautiful grey blue eyes he had ever seen. 

They are seated in a face that is just as beautiful as they are. Sharp jaw lines, almost too sharp and too angular to be masculine and between that and the high cheekbones, the man can only be described as beautiful. 

Perfectly set brown hair with a single strand escaping the bonds of the pomade to cut the sharp forehead and Tony almost has to fight the urge to stop his fingers from brushing that strand back to join the rest. 

The eerie grey blue eyes look at him up and down as the man's dark red lips open. 

"Stephen." The man says and Tony gives him a firm nod. 

"Tony." He says. He hasn't meant to. He had meant to keep this nameless. Mindless. Willing. That's what he always did when he came here. He usually responded to the names with 'I don't care, let's go somewhere else'. But that's not what comes out of his mouth tonight. 

Not with this man. 

"What are you looking for?" Tony founds himself asking instead, keeping his voice low as he licks at his lips. 

"Something entertaining. You?" The man responds and though he keeps his words short, there is that lilting accent and that velvety deep voice and Tony can't help but feel a shiver go down his spine as he hears it. 

A warm pool of want and desire fills his stomach. Getting rid of that desperate need for immediate release. There is a spark of intelligence in the man's eyes and the cold aloof way that he holds himself perched on the stool keeps Tony's mind wandering and desiring. 

He licks his lips again before he answers and he sees the grey blue eyes narrow onto his tongue as it licks its way across his lips. The subtle dilation of those eyes are exactly what Tony had wanted. 

"Someone to make me feel alive." Tony responds back and the man cocks his head to the side for a moment before he stands up from the stool. 

For a moment, Tony feels his hopes dashed, thinking that the man is about to walk away from him. Instead, the man lowers his head and leans to whisper against Tony's ear. 

"I will show you what Le Petite Morte truly is if you take me home with you." The man whispers against his ear, his voice low and seductive. Tony shudders as he feels those words go straight down his spine to his cock. 

The way that the man pronounces the French words so perfectly and the way that his tongue seems to curl around the words has Tony wondering just what he could do with that tongue. Tony nods as he swallows thickly. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." Tony says as he stands up. He throws a few bills on the bar for the drink he hasn't even touched. The man is quiet as Tony leads the way out of the bar. 

This was not going according to any semblance of a plan that he has had. Tony doesn't take his one night stands from bars like this in the dark corners of LA downtown home. 

But this feels right. he puts the man in his car and he drives. He's pretty sure that he is driving a little too fast, but the man doesn't comment. He doesn't say a word either. 

He merely sits in the car as if it is a novel experience. Tony doesn't quite know what to say either. He is torn between asking questions of the man and not asking anything at all. 

He doesn't normally make small talk with his random pick ups. He just takes them to the nearest motel that doesn't ask for ID, throws cash at them, fucks them and then leaves them. 

That's how this is supposed to work. 

But looking at this man, the way he is dressed, the way he talks and the way that he holds himself and moves? A cheap motel would not suit him well and he also didn't seem like the type to talk. At least that's what Tony hopes. 

Not that it matters. 

Within a few short weeks, he was going to be dead so who gives a fuck if there is a new scandal on the news about his deviant sexual behaviour, right? 

"Tony. That's a derivative of Anthony." The man says as the car leaves Downtown behind and starts to head to Malibu. Tony doesn't turn to look at the man but he nods. 

"Yeah." Tony can't keep the heat out of his voice a little. There is a way that the man says Anthony that somehow turns the most mundane of names into something exotic. Maybe it's his accent or the way that his lips and tongue shapes the word, but there is something almost erotic about his name on the man's lips that Tony can't help but want to hear it again. 

"Would you mind if I called you Anthony?" The man asks and it's like a prayer being answered. Tony shakes his head. 

"No. I don't mind." Tony says and it's a testament to just how fucking aroused he is that he can't even really make the small talk that he usually does. 

His cock already feels more than half hard and there is desire burning through his blood. Tony can't remember the last time he was this excited about a one night stand like this. But there is something about this tall dark beautiful stranger that hits all of his buttons and Tony _wants_. 

He steps on the pedal a little harder. 

~~~ 

This is a mistake. 

Stephen knows it even as his back hits the wall and his head is pulled down into a deep and heady kiss. The man's tongue burns as it touches his and Stephen can't stop the moan that breaks free from his lips. 

This wasn't the plan. 

Stephen had merely followed the mortal into the bar because he had seen him as he had made his way out of the long closed library and had planned to track the mortal down to check on him. Perhaps to Reap him. 

The haunting image of the man as he had played the piano hadn't left his mind and Stephen had been looking for a distraction. Perhaps to see the man doing something despicable. Something not so beautiful and haunting. 

Perhaps then he could have Reaped the man. 

But when he had seen the man in the bar, sitting, desperation reeking from him and he had seen the interested eyes, Stephen had moved before he had even realised. 

He does not morph into a mortal body often. 

Even now, as Tony's hot and calloused hands roam over his body, Stephen can't help but hate the heaviness of his limbs, bound like this in a physical form. 

But when he feels the hot and hard cock against his thigh and can feel his own rise up against the hard thigh that slots itself against his own cock, Stephen decides that perhaps the physical form is not such a bad thing after all. 

Tony's desperation and desire is both addictive and infectious. 

Stephen has not felt something like this for so long he isn't sure if he remember it anymore. But it doesn't matter what he remembers or not. His body moves with instinct. His tongue caresses and curls around Tony's and his lips open and close to try to capture every single moan the mortal allows to escape, even as his own moans fill the air between them. 

The air tastes almost sweet with desire and need. 

It's the first breath of air he feels like he has felt for decades now. He doesn't take the moment to savour it. There are more and better things to be savoured. 

Stephen tears his lips away from Tony's with a cry as the man's hands dip into his underwear and touches his hard cock, wrapping the hand deftly around the erection he finds there. 

"Tell me you're clean." The man demands. And it's a demand. The grip around his cock tightens as the man asks and Stephen pants as he manages a nod. Tony doesn't hesitate. 

He kneels gracefully and quickly at Stephen's feet and pushes him against the wall with a hand against Stephen's stomach, feeling the toned abs there with his fingertips. 

Stephen barely has a chance to register the warm moist breath against his cock before his fingers are clawing at the walls as Tony Stark swallows his cock down. 

There is no gentleness. There is no going slow. Tony was going to take what he wants from Stephen's body and make Stephen take it. Stephen does not mind. Not right now. 

Not when he can see the moonlight coming in through the wide wall to wall windows of the Malibu Mansion. 

Not when through those windows, the moonlight is streaming through and partially lighting up one side of Tony's body as he sucks Stephen's cock down expertly. 

Stephen isn't sure if this is the cock that he had when he was alive. He cannot remember. But the body that he forms is one that he has remembered. He is glad that Tony seems to be enjoying his body. 

As that thought crosses his mind, Stephen closes his eyes as the realisation hits him, just as hard and fast as the orgasm does. 

This is a terrible, terrible mistake. 

~~~ 

Tony looks up at the way that Stephen is leaning against the wall, his head leaned back, his body lit by the moonlight. The black of his clothes seems to be sucking in the light and disappearing it even as his pale skin seemed to reflect it. 

He is the most beautiful man that Tony had ever laid his eyes upon. That, he will have to admit without reservation. 

Tony forces himself to keep his eyes open and watch as Stephen throws his head back and lets out the most luxurious cry as he comes hard in Tony's throat. Tony takes it all. 

He takes and swallows every single bit of the cum and sucks the man clean as the hazy grey blue eyes, blown wide open look down upon him. 

"I thought it is I who was meant to make you feel alive, Anthony." The man says as he Tony looks up at him and Tony chuckles. His throat is sore and his jaw feels like it's about to fall off but he doesn't give a fuck. 

There is a lazy smile on the man's lips that is almost predatory that sends a shiver down Tony's spine. 

"You were late on the uptake." Tony tells him as he licks his lips. 

"Oh, in that case, I should get on with it, I suppose." The man says as he leans down and kisses Tony. The way that he keeps his legs straight and bends his waist down and lifts up Tony's chin with his fingertips is seductive. 

Tony hopes to god that JARVIS was recording everything from every fucking angle because he wants to watch that. Maybe he will watch it as he takes his last breath, Tony thins somewhat hysterically as the man expertly licks his way into Tony's sore lips and captures his tongue, tasting himself on Tony's lips, no doubt. 

"Take me to your bed, Anthony." The man purrs against his lips and Tony can only nod shakily as he gets up off the floor and leads the man to his bedroom. 

They don't touch on the way to the bedroom. There is a single awkward moment as Stephen straightens his pants but they make it to the bedroom nevertheless and when they do, Tony is glad that he's left the blinds open. 

It's just past full moon but the light is bright enough that it fills the bedroom with that soft cold light and it's perfect. 

Stephen doesn't waste any time. He pushes Tony onto the bed by crowding into him and kissing him until the back of Tony's knees hit the bed. There is a possessive hand on his neck as the man pushes him into the bed and Tony let's him. 

"Would you prefer to fuck me or for me to fuck you?" Stephen asks and there is something incredibly sexy about that voice and that accent saying the word 'fuck' that for a moment Tony forgets that he is being asked a question. 

"Fuck me." The answer comes quickly enough and the man raises a perfect eyebrow before he nods curtly. When he opens his lips, Tony already knows what the question is going to be. 

"I'm clean and it's fine if you don't believe me. There's lube and condoms in the draw over there." Tony points to the bedside table with his chin and Stephen nods but he doesn't move. Instead, he leans down and kisses him hard. 

"I do believe I will trust you. I would enjoy seeing you dripping with my cum." Stephen whispers darkly onto Tony's lips. 

For a moment, Tony can just stare at the man, gaping at him as the man goes to the drawer and comes back only with the lube before he pushes Tony fully down onto his back. 

With brutal efficiency that speaks of experience, the man strips Tony of his tight jeans. Tony is surprised, but glad that the man does not try to remove his shirt. 

Instead, Stephen leans down over Tony and kisses the hard, leaking erection softly even as he pops open the lube. 

The cold lube is jarring against his heated skin, but even that adds to the pleasure as Stephen hoists up Tony's legs and firmly puts Tony's own hands under the knees to hold them in place as he looms over Tony. 

For a moment, Tony can swear that those odd grey blue eyes glow with their own inner light or something as the man leans down and kisses him hard just as the first finger penetrates him. 

Tony gasps into the kiss as the long thin finger works its way into him. There is no pause, no hesitation, nothing. The lube does it's job and this isn't Tony's first rodeo, so he can take it easily enough but it still comes as a shock. 

The finger also is quick to find his prostate, but doesn't linger there. Just brushes up against it a few times as if to remind Stephen of where it is placed. Tony is grateful because he's been hard for a long time now and the tension burns in his body and he knows that if Stephen had kept his exploration of his prostate up, he will not be lasting long enough to even taste the main event. 

The second finger joins the first with that same efficiency as they begin to scissor him open and Tony struggles to keep his eyes open so that he can watch the beautiful man and his hungry eyes. 

"Just do it." Tony finds himself saying, desperation and need overwhelming common sense. The man smirks. 

"No." The unexpected response surprise Tony and he almost drops his legs, but Stephen pushes against his thighs, keeping them in place as he casually fucks his fingers into Tony. 

"No?" Tony can't keep the outrage from his voice as Stephen raises that perfect eyebrow again and leans down to suck at Tony's neck. Tony should push him away. He doesn't let one night stands leave marks. He doesn't let _anyone_ leave marks on him. 

But as the man sucks the mark onto his neck, Tony can't stop himself moaning. 

"I will fuck you the way I want to, Anthony. You will take what I give you or nothing at all." The man purrs into his ear and Tony moans at that voice and at those words and the way that he draws out his name and the way that he punctures those words with a sharp twist of his fingers that has Tony throwing his head back. 

"Yes! Fine! Just- Oh God!" Tony almost sobs out when Stephen does add the third finger just as he uses his middle finger to scrape along his prostate. 

"Good boy." Stephen murmurs against his neck and Tony can feel the vibration of those words and it adds to his pleasure. 

Soon, between the way that he is almost squashed by Stephen's weight against his legs and keeping them spread open and trapped, the way that his hands are trapped into his knees, the efficient and yet almost lazy way that Stephen was fucking his fingers into him and the numerous marks the man kept making along his neck and chest that he can reach, Tony feels overwhelmed. 

His neglected and trapped cock doesn't get any of the stimulation that it desperately needs even as it is lavished just enough onto his prostate. 

Tony loses himself to what feels like it torturously perfect pleasure. Stephen keeps him on that edge of desperation and need as his need to orgasm builds and builds. 

By the time that Stephen finally pulls his fingers out and firmly holds onto Tony's knees and pushes into him, hard and fast, Tony's eyes are overflowing with tears that he can't stop even if he wanted to. 

He is moaning, he is panting and he is crying out, muttering litanies of words that makes no sense and has no meaning. There are wordless pleas as he begs for relief. 

The relief doesn't come. 

~~~ 

This is a terrible, _terrible_ mistake. 

But Stephen can't stop. No. Perhaps from that very first moment when he had thought that the palladium poisoning was interesting, it had been too late. 

He hadn't felt interested in a mortal or their cause of death or anything before. 

Only the books. 

But now he was more than interested. Anthony Edward Stark's body _burns_ around him and the tight heat feels perfect and Stephen can swear that he can feel it reach into the depths, past the physical form that he had created to something else. Something other. Something more. 

He doesn't know what that is. 

But he wants more. 

Tony's eyes are filled with tears that spill over and over again and stream down his face as his lips pant and moan and cry out. The man's voice is going hoarse from the spectacular blow job he had given Stephen and the almost hour he has kept the man on the edge of coming and madness. 

Even now, as Stephen drives himself in and out of Tony's body, holding those strong calloused hands hostage with his own legs, Stephen does not touch Tony's cock. 

"P-Please- Pl-Please." The man's litany of words have been reduced to just what one word over and over again for the last little while now. 

Instead of giving the man what he wants, Stephen stops moving, causing the man to sob even as he leans down to kiss those parched lips as they continue to plead with him. 

The time is right, he thinks as he lays a gentle hand on the man's face, making him open his eyes to look at him. 

Those caramel brown eyes, perfect in every way, blown wide open with his desire and filled with tears is a sight that Stephen would never forget, even if he didn't have his photographic memory. 

"Do you want to come Anthony? Do you want me to touch you? Make you come? Let you feel the Le Petite Morte?" Stephen asks and for a long moment, Tony doesn't respond. Tears simply fall from his eyes wordlessly as his lips continue to mouth the pleases that no longer make a sound as he pants and shudders. 

"Y-Yes. P-please." The man says and Stephen give shim an indulgent smile. 

"Good boy." Stephen tells him again and kisses him again, swallowing the cry as he wraps a hand around the hard and leaking cock and almost brutally slams his into Tony's all too willing and pliant body. 

The cry that Tony let's out as he comes sounds pained and Stephen isn't too surprised to see those caramel brown eyes roll back into his head as the man's body tenses hard and his cock spurts out cum all over his own chest and stomach, still covered by the shirt. 

Tony grows impossibly tight around him and Stephen too comes hard inside of the man before he carefully lets the man's legs down and lays him flat on the bed. 

With a wave of his hand, Stephen straightens his clothes and sits on the edge of the bed, crossing his legs to look over Tony's body lit by the moonlight. 

He could Reap him right now. 

Give the man real death right after he has shown him the most pleasurable of deaths possible. The little death of pleasure. 

It would be so easy and peaceful. Anthony won't feel a single thing. 

But as Stephen watches over the man, naked but the shirt he'd kept on, the white remnants of his desire leaking out from the quivering hole and his eyes still wet with the tears, Stephen finds himself unable to call upon the Scythe. 

Instead, Stephen finds himself reaching up so that he can wipe those yet unshed tears from the man's eyes. 

The unnatural nature of such an act for someone like him hits and when it does, Stephen snatches his hand back. But he can't help but feel the fast cooling tear lingering on his fingertips. 

With a snarl, Stephen drops the physical form. The drain on his powers is nothing compared to the annoyance he feels. 

Stephen fades into the shades, unaware that eyes unbeknown to him, has seen a display of something that no human should ever be aware. 

The black shadows of a Grim Reaper. 

~~~


	2. Something Nice This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens to Grim Reapers unable to return to the shadows and to the embrace of Mistress Death? 
> 
> What happens to souls that aren't Reaped? 
> 
> What happens when there is nothing but indecision?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. That happened. 
> 
> So um yeah. The thing that was meant to be a one shot turned into a two shot. 
> 
> What was meant to be sweet distracting smut turned into something dark and gothicy just cause it's me. 
> 
> But there is a happy ending... sorta? Dunno. I need to stop listening to Mozart's Requiem. I'm feeling all haunting and dark and scary. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this diversion and Imma just gonna go and hide in my hole again and go back to AVO now.
> 
> <3

"Sir. Sir. Sir!" JARVIS's insistent voice is painful and grating against Tony's ears and he struggles to shield his eyes from the bright sunlight that is pouring through the windows. 

"Oh God! Fuck! Blinds J!" Tony tries to shout. All that he manages is a hoarse croak but JARVIS understands him just fine enough. 

The blinds come slamming down and Tony has a moment of blessed darkness as he tries to keep his eyes open. 

"Sir!" JARVIS calls to him again and Tony groans as he tries to turn and bury his head in a pillow or something. Except there is no pillow under his head and he feels like he's run a fucking marathon. He feels raw and tired in a way he hadn't for a while. 

The dizziness and the nausea is at least familiar, but the way that his throat is so hoarse that it hurts to swallow? Not so much. His lips are chapped and they feel cracked and dry as he tries to run his tongue over them to wet them. 

His legs feel tight and sore and so does his arms and hands. Not to mention the familiar and quite delicious ache in his hole where he feels stretched and raw. he feels as if he has been fucked open. 

He stretches an arm over to the side of the bed but he isn't surprised to find that there is no one there. He knows that he is alone. 

This is new, Tony thinks as he blinks. 

Normally, it's him that leaves his bed partners alone after fucking them. He hasn't really experienced it the other way around and there is an odd disquiet in his head that he doesn't quite like. A bitterness in his mouth that he also doesn't like. But he supposes that's how he's made countless people feel so it's only fair that he feels the pain too. 

"Sir!" JARVIS calls again and Tony sighs. If he could have, he would have shouted 'what?!' at the AI but he really can't. His throat is too sore and he is too tired. So he just opens his eyes and gestures for the AI to go on with a wave of his hand. 

"There are two matters that require your immediate attention. One is in relation to Ms Potts and the other is in relation to your visitor from last night. Which would you prefer I address first?" JARVIS asks him and Tony swears, if the AI had a form, he would be strangling his neck just about at this point. 

"Wait. What is this about Stephen?" Tony says or at least that's what he tries to say. With the way that his voice cracks midway through, he's not quite sure how it comes out as but luckily, JARVIS is used to him. 

"Well sir, your guest, he... for the lack of a better term, vanished into thin air instead of leaving the premises." JARVIS says with that dry tone of his as he cues up the video from the night before and for a moment, though even the idea of having sex right now is beyond him, Tony feels the arousal peak as he watches the almost fully clothed Stephen fuck into his... almost bound body. 

There is something primal about the way that the man moves that makes Tony's mouth go dry from the already dry hellscape his mouth is in. But it's what happens after They both come that surprises Tony. 

There is a gentleness and care to the way that the man rearranges Tony on the bed before he wipes the remnant of tears from Tony's eyes. 

The angle of the camera isn't perfect and neither is the light from the moon, but Tony can see the bodily shudder that goes through that slender body before the man simply... vanishes. 

"What the fuck!?" 

~~~ 

Mistake. Mistake. MISTAKE. 

The word repeats over and over in his head and though he is nothing more than a shadow, Stephen swears that he can feel the wetness of the man's tears lingering on his fingertips. He can swear that he can feel the warmth still through his incorporeal shadow form where no warmth should linger. 

Stephen snarls in his anger and he almost travels through the shadows formed by the scant shades available in LA towards the Malibu Mansion. 

He should Reap this soul before he makes another mistake. A worse mistake. Before he fails and falls like the others have. He will not be one of those failed Reapers that fails to take a soul. He will not. 

But keeping an corporeal form as long as he had and the strenuous nature of the activities has left him drained and even if he wanted to, Stephen isn't sure if he could make it to Malibu and summon the scythe. 

No. 

It would be better to wait in the shadows and gather his strength before he returns to claim the man's soul. 

Tonight, he promises himself. 

Tonight, no matter how broken the man is or how impossibly human and beautiful he is, Stephen will take his soul. He must. Time is running out. As eternal as he is, the man is not and the time for the man is running out. 

Quickly. 

Stephen cannot dally for much longer upon the mortal realm. 

Tonight, he tells himself once again. 

Tonight. 

~~~ 

This isn't possible. 

Tony has run every single test he can think of. He has run DNA tests on the semen Stephen has left behind. He'd run imaging tests to make sure that JARVIS hadn't somehow been hacked or something and the video feeds has been messed with.

The DNA test tells him nothing, other than that it belongs to a human male. Which is not incredibly helpful. The only other thing that the DNA tells Tony is that whatever Stephen is, he is not a mutant. Which honestly would have been the easiest explanation and one he could have easily accepted. 

In fact that's what he'd been hoping for when he'd run the test to begin with. 

JARVIS's server is secure and there has not been any signs of anyone even attempting to mess with the video feeds and if he wasn't able to see it from at least three angles and confirm that despite the low lighting and the odd angles that the man does simply... vanish into the thin air as if he had never been there, Tony would have thought himself drunk. 

As it is, he wonders if he is hallucinating the whole thing. 

With the Palladium poisoning his body and the percentage at well over 50%, that is not an impossibility. Heavy metal poisonings do tend to effect the brain after all. 

The fear that travels up his spine at that thought is one Tony doesn't particularly want to think about or indulge in. So he doesn't. Instead, he focuses on what he knows and loves. Science. 

"Sir, you are supposed to be boarding the flight to Monaco in 3 hours. Perhaps you should shower and pack." JARVIS tells him. Tony ignores him. Or at least he does for another hour of fruitless research before he gives up. 

When he comes back from Monaco, he will deal with this mystery, he thinks. He wishes that he knew more about Stephen. Like a last name. Or what he did. Or if Stephen was even his real name. 

But he doesn't. 

That's not how Tony does things. 

"J, get a clean grab of his face and run it. Find me a name, a phone number, address." Tony demands as he finally does get up from the stool and makes his way to the bedroom. 

"Of course sir." JARVIS, thankfully keeps the sass out of his voice as Tony hurries. His relationship with Pepper is shaky enough as it is that he really shouldn't be late. 

And that's the crux of the problem wasn't it? As much as he wanted to push away those that he loved, there was that little part of him that held out hope that he might be able to find a way out of this situation. That he will be able to fix himself and if that were possible, he doesn't want to have completely destroyed the relationships that were important to him. 

Tony sighs as he lets the hot water wash over his head as finally lets the remnants of the night before wash off of him. 

Stephen, a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Just what Tony needed to keep his mind off things. 

~~~ 

Anthony Edward Stark is most distinctively not in the City of Angels. 

Stephen doesn't panic. Not quite. He can sense the man's soul well enough when he concentrates on the slip of paper that has the man's name written upon it. He is somewhere in Europe. 

Stephen has a choice to make. 

He could easily portal himself back to the after life, without the soul he had been sent to Reap and portal back to Europe so that he can take the man's soul, but to do so would be to show the gossiping simpering fools of his kind that he has failed. 

His pride does not allow him to do that. 

Instead, Stephen lingers in the darkness of Tony's mansion. Though he has spent the day recuperating in the shadows of the Los Angeles Public Library, the weakness still lingers in him. 

He has expanded far too much of himself to keep himself corporeal and as delicious as the memories were and as entertaining they would be as he existed through the rest of the eternity that was now his being, Stephen isn't sure whether or not it had been worth it. 

He remembers the warnings from Mistress Death. 

About the dangers of allowing the warm heat of the living to touch his eternal dead soul. How he could come to long for the warmth that he cannot have any longer. And how that longing could be his undoing just as it had been for countless others. 

Stephen had scoffed at the idea. 

He had never thought that his dead eyes would land upon a being that was so incredibly beautiful that he could not tear his eyes away, but to be tempted into reaching out to touch and to desire. 

And now that he has touched and felt the burn of that living heat, the coldness that surrounds him in the shadows seem only colder and darker for it. 

The moon is no longer full and hidden behind the clouds. 

The bed and the white sheets that had glowed in the moonlight as he had taken Tony Stark and delved into the tight heat of his living body with the facsimile of life that he had wrought is now dark and cast in the shadows. 

The remnants of their activities linger on the bed. 

Stains of sweat, lubrication and their passions are spread amongst the sheets, as are the dry remnants of Tony's tears. The ones that Stephen had forced out of the genius and had felt so warm and yet cold and wet against his fingers. 

Stephen clenches his incorporeal hands into fists before he moves on. 

He should return to the library. He should perhaps recuperate more as he reads so that if Tony does not return to the mansion soon, he can travel to Europe himself without relying on the portals. But he doesn't leave the mansion. 

The house is shrouded in the shadows enough and without Tony's presence, it feels dark and empty. Stephen isn't quite sure what leads him to go down the stairs towards where he can feel the energies of machines buzzing. But he travels through the shadows until he finds what appears to be a workshop of some sorts. 

There are machines for creating more machines, computers, screens and signs of advanced technology that Stephen hadn't seen when he had been alive. He does not find it very interesting, but he can almost feel Ton's soul lingering here. 

A place he has spent a great deal of time in then, Stephen can't help but think. If Anthony were to pass without having a Reaper present to take his soul to the after life, this is where his soul would have lingered. Familiar with the place and bound to it by the time and passion that had been poured into the very foundations of this location. 

A place where Tony had been most comfortable and happy, Stephen thinks. And it is just as cold and desolate as the world Stephen spends most of his time in. There are no signs of luxury down in this workshop. No decadence. No riches other than the cold tools of machinery and science. 

Stephen does not like it. 

He turns to leave, but a moment before he does, one of the screens that has been flashing pictures upon pictures stop and there is a small beep that draws his attention. 

'Dr Stephen Vincent Strange Dies in Tragic Motor Vehicle Accident' 

Stephen feels himself come to a complete stop as he looks upon the article. He doesn't- He doesn't know this. 

The dead do not know how they have died. Reaper or not, they never know how they left the mortal world. Only that they did. Even for those like him, that recover the memories of their deaths, they do not get to know how they died. It is to ensure that as a Reaper, if they have died an unfair death, they would not seek retribution upon the mortal realm. 

Stephen hadn't cared. 

But. 

He can't stop himself from moving closer to the screen and the words written upon it. 

2nd of February 1990, Dr Stephen Vincent Strange, a renowned Neurosurgeon, known for his- Stephen skims the article until it describes the circumstances of his death. 

In the icy cold roads just outside of New York, the article says, Dr Strange lost control of his Lamborghini and the vehicle careened off the road and into the Hudson river. It is believed that Dr Strange was killed instantly upon impact. 

No. 

That's- that's not right. Stephen gasps. He can feel the water filling his lungs. He can feel the dark spots forming against his eyes. He can feel the panic, the fear, the anger and devastation. In the freezing cold of the winter icy waters of the Hudson, he had felt the warm of tears flowing from his eyes as he had struggled to breathe. As he had struggled to free himself from the car. 

No. 

Stephen gasps for breath as the shadows pull him into their depths. He sinks gratefully into them as he recalls the face of the Reaper that had come for him. That had whispered his name. That had coldly cut his soul from his body. That had both taken his life and ended the suffering and the fear that had filled him. 

No. 

~~~ 

Tony sits in the Ford Roadster Classic in the dark shadows of the workshop. 

Before him, he sees two newspaper articles. One about Howard Stark and Anton Vanko. The other, shows the photograph of the handsome man he'd taken to bed a few nights ago and explains that man's death. 

"Dr Stephen Vincent Strange." Tony finds himself muttering. 

There is an odd emptiness in his chest. The pain that's been there as the reactor core had burn out and he had almost run out of time to replace it isn't there anymore. At least he doesn't think so. If it's still there, then he can't feel it and that's what really matters. 

Instead, there's that emptiness that comes after the pain or before it sometimes. When you know the pain is coming and it's there but you are in too much shock to feel it. 

Tony can't tear his eyes away from the photograph of Dr Stephen Vincent Strange. The photograph had been one of those headshots. The doctor is looking directly at the camera and his ethereal grey blue eyes are sharp and pale and just as enchanting as they had been when Tony had been looking into them. 

His hair is perfectly set with pomade that lends just a little bit of shine and the sharp angular features of his face is well lit and well captured. But this Stephen isn't the one that Tony had met. 

No. 

This one is dead. Tony had done the research. He even found out that the man was buried in his family plot in Phildelphia. He read the coroner's report. He saw the wreck of the car. He had seen the pictures of the mangled body they pulled out from the river. 

He had seen the body he'd worshipped just a few nights ago, broken and void of life.

It can't be real. It can't be. He had felt the coolness of the man's skin against his warm up with his touches. He had kissed the red lips. He had taken that man into his body and if the article and all the information he had dug up was the truth, then what the fuck had he fucked? 

A ghost? 

Tony scoffs. He doesn't believe in ghosts. Mutant? No, he's already checked that. A clone? Couldn't have been the same age and appearance as Dr Strange and besides, the science wasn't quite there yet for human cloning. 

Tony should be more upset about the revelation of his father, shouldn't he? Not about this mysterious man. 

"What the hell are you Stephen Strange?" Tony finds himself asking the empty air before him. 

The workshop is dark and quiet. Rhodey has come and gone. Pepper and her new assistant had come and gone. There is no one but JARVIS to talk back to him. But he can't help but ask the question that he knows that the AI won't answer and that he doesn't have an answer to. 

Unexpectedly, Tony does get an answer. 

"Death." 

~~~ 

Nothing goes according to plan when it comes to Anthony Edward Stark. 

That is the abject lesson of this mortal, Stephen thinks as he moans.

He had lingered in the shadows. He didn't even know how long for until the shouting and the yelling had caught his attention and drawn him out of the stupor. 

It is only then that he realised that the shadows that had hidden majority of the workshop was gone. That the lights had come on and there were souls within the mansion. 

Stephen had been startled, but he had remained quiet and hidden amongst the little that was left of the shadows. 

The bright fire of the mortal's soul had burnt brightly to him and he hadn't been able to look away as he noted the way that the soul was beginning to fray. 

He had dallied too long. 

The soul was starting to break and Stephen didn't have the luxury of time if he meant to Reap the soul rather than leave to the ravages of time and to be broken and twisted until nothing of Tony Stark remained. 

Stephen had remained. 

He had watched. He had listened. Eventually, after the heated arguments were done and the mansion was emptied of the other souls, the shadows returned as the lights dimmed and Tony sat in the ancient vehicle and watched the screen in front of him. 

Stephen had listened to the questions that were posed to no one. To the universe perhaps. But when Tony had asked who Stephen was, he had answered. 

He hadn't been able to stop himself. 

It had been almost too easy, almost too natural, for him to slip into that corporeal form from the shadows, forming himself behind the car and speaking those words that he should not have uttered. 

Tony's response to it all had not been what Stephen had expected. Instead of the fear and confusion that he himself had felt when the Reaper had appeared before him to Reap his soul, Tony Stark had looked at him with calculating eyes. 

Still, Stephen doesn't know how that revelation has led to this situation. 

The metal surface feels cool against his back just as the man's human body feels warm against his front. 

"Pay back is a bitch, Dr Strange." Tony Stark tells him and Stephen can't focus on his words. he can't quite read the man's expression or his tone. All he can do is moan and throw his his back until it meets the hard surface of the metal body holding him hostage. 

Stephen doesn't understand why this is happening. How Tony Stark wasn't running from him in abject fear. 

Instead of fear, all that Tony was showing was... desire. 

It burns brightly inside of the man, making it impossible for Stephen to think or to feel anything other than the answering need and desire. 

The man's fingers are ruthless as they explore Stephen's body. The numerous fingers already inside of him are dancing across the prostate, making Stephen moan and cry out as the metal arms of what Tony called the Iron Man suit holds him hostage. 

If he truly wished to escape these bonds, all he needs to do is to fade into the shadows again. 

But there are no shadows nearby for him to fade into. All there is is the bright lights of the workshop shining down upon them and around them at all angles, not leaving him a single shadow to fade into. 

Stephen's knees are on the man's shoulders. Trapped between their bodies, Stephen can feel the heavy heat of the mans' erection pulsing against his own. One hand holds Stephen's hips tightly, possessively. 

The other play him like the keys of the piano he had seen Tony play just a week ago. 

There is expertise and finesse to the way that the man fingers him open and plays with him and makes him take the pleasure that he is giving him. 

"An-Antho-" Stephen is trying to say something. He is. He just loses track of what it is that he is trying to say as the pleasure builds and he can't hold onto the thought any more. 

"That's it, Stephen. Beg me for what you need and I might just give it to you." Tony tells him, his eyes dark and yet burning as bright as the soul contained within them. 

Stephen can't. 

The only sound that escapes his lips when he does open his lips is the cry as he comes, untouched between them. 

Tony doesn't let him rest. No. Instead, the man burns his pleasure into Stephen's body with the marks that he places all over Stephen's chest and neck. Through the harsh way that his fingers still linger inside of Stephen, stroking him and pushing him until unbidden, tears begin to flow from his eyes. 

Payback, the man had said. 

Just as he had forced Tony to cry tears of pleasure, does the man plan to draw such tears from him? Force him to endure the pleasure until his immortal mind breaks under the pressure? 

He is not sure. 

What is the man trying to accomplish? Make him change his mind about Reaping the soul that the Mistress demands? To leave him in the mortal coils and life that he had fought so hard to retain? 

Stephen isn't sure. 

All he can be sure of is the blinding pleasure and the surety that soon, he won't even be able to have a half coherent thought. 

"Come on Stephen, you know the magic word don't you?" Tony asks him. 

If he did, Stephen can't remember it. 

Not anymore. 

~~~ 

A Grim Reaper. 

Well shit. That wasn't on the list of things that Tony had even thought about. But the man had appeared out of the shadows and when he had told Tony what he was and just why he had been there that night... It's- It's hard to describe what Tony felt in that moment. 

Rage? Anger? Frustration? Panic? Fear? 

Maybe all of that. Maybe none of that. 

Either way, he had done what he does when he is confused and upset and needing to clear his head. Pushed the man that claimed to be death itself against the convenient Iron Man suit and had kissed him. 

It is only when Tony kissed him that he realised that the man didn't taste of anything. Tony knows that his tongue probably tasted of the burnt coffee, the acrid chemical taste he can't quite get rid of from his poisoning and the bile that threatens to exit his body at every turn. 

But the man doesn't seem to notice any of that, just as Tony hadn't noticed that the man's tongue hadn't tasted of anything at all a few nights ago. 

This is dangerous. 

This is stupid. Fucking a Grim Reaper, if indeed the man is to be believed, or a crazy individual with unknown powers and abilities that were able to sneak into his lab and was delusional about what he was. 

Either way, this is stupid and dangerous. 

It makes him feel alive. 

It had been all too fucking easy to strip the man down as Tony kept him distracted and occupied with the kisses that he kept forcing upon those lips. Oh, no, not forcing. They opened under his voluntarily and the odd tasteless tongue danced with Tony's just as he played with it. 

A few commands here and there to JARVIS and the Iron Man suit acted just as Tony had wanted. It had pulled the bare chested man into it's hold and lifted him up, holding him captive there until Tony was able to strip him of the pants that hid his desire. 

Then it had been easy enough to lift those slender, hairless, long legs upon his shoulders so that he could access what the Reaper hid in those polite clothes. 

Inside the man, where it should be burning with heat, had been cool. Wet and sleek with the lube Tony had forced in there, but cool as if the man was just a being of shadows and magic with no warmth of his own. 

But as Tony had worked his fingers into him, found that spot and made the man moan and cry and pant, the tight channel started to warm up and Tony had relished in the tight heat that began to form around his fingers. 

There is an odd desperation in his actions that's not familiar to even Tony. He has never been like this with a lover before. He had never brushed aside their needs or his own needs just to go ahead with a plan that had formed in his mind. 

But he wanted to see this so called Grim Reaper cry. Just as he had made Tony cry. He wanted him incoherent with pleasure and forced to bend to Tony's will and his desires. The man never said no. Even when he had been coherent enough to do so, he never said no. 

He simply repeated Tony's name over and over again. Nothing more. Nothing less. Just his name, Anthony, muttered, whispered, cried out, shouted, over and over and over again. 

It feels like a mantra, a prayer, a plea, a curse. 

It doesn't matter what it is. Tony doesn't care. 

When the tears do begin to form and start to fall from those dilated grey blue eyes that are just as magical and just as otherworldly as the night before, Tony can't help but drink in that sight. 

It's curiosity that makes him lean in close and gesture for the suit to lower just enough so that he can touch the man's face and to taste those tears for himself. 

They aren't salty like his own. 

They are liquid and and though they have just fallen from the man's eyes, they are cold. It feels like the frigid, cold, refreshing waters of winter and ice. Tony shudders as the man's eyes open and the wide blown pupils look into his caramel brown eyes. 

"Anthony." The man breathes out. It's not what Tony wants to hear, but it will do, he thinks as he pushes the man hard against the unforgiving metal rendition of himself, his strength and his safety. 

"Le Petite Mort, that's what you said you'd give me Stephen. But that's not what you really came to give me is it?" Tony asks and the man's eyes widen as the words register but in the haze of pleasure that Tony was continuing to force into him and onto him, the man doesn't seem to be able to think coherently enough to answer. 

It doesn't matter. 

Tony will get his answer later. He can worry about that later. After he takes his pleasure from this pliant and willing body. 

"Do you want my cock Dr Grim Reaper? Do you want me inside of you? Do you want me to fuck you hard? Make you come on my cock?" Tony asks. He likes the vulgar nature of the words that leave his lips. 

It seems sarcrilegous to be using such words with a being that claims to be a Grim Reaper. A being that reigns over life and death. An immortal being, if the man is to be believed. 

There is just a moment of clarity in those grey blue eyes before the man nods. It's all the consent that Tony needs. He all but rips his fingers out of Stephen's body and tightens his grip on the slender hips. He pushes the thighs open wider and lets them come to rest on his upper arms as he slams into the tight channel. 

Even now, there is a slight temperature difference. 

Tony is burning hot with his lust and need. Stephen's body, though he is clearly needy, desperate and aroused, feel cool against his hot cock and even that brings pleasure to Tony. 

He shudders and shivers as he lets that coolness tamper down his desperation until he can open his eyes and look down on the alleged Grim Reaper again. 

"Not all that powerful now are you? Trapped by a man and fucked on his cock. Where is all that pride and arrogance now Stephen?" Tony can't help but ask as he takes in the image before him. 

Stephen has been stripped naked. The expanse of his pale skin is lit up starkly by the bright lights of the workshop. The Iron Man suit that is holding him hostage in it's glorious red and gold is a good background for that pale body. 

There is a certain feeling of ownership and possession that comes over Tony as he looks at the way that the man's head is thrown back against the hard metal surface of the Iron Man suit's shoulder. The way that the once perfectly pomaded hair as been thrown into disarray through his frantic movements. 

The dark red marks of his lips peppered across that pale stretched neck and toned chest, down to the hard erect cock trailing along the cum that the man had already released and dripping even now with pre-cum. 

The way that the slender but firm thighs were spread open by his darker skinned hips and arms, down to the way that his cock was disappearing into that body. It's- It's perfect. 

It feels wrong, it feels like he is committing a sin of some description by this act itself and Tony loves it. He has said fuck it to God a long time ago. It seems only right now to literally fuck a being that is meant to have a say over life and death and souls. If he is to be believed. 

"An-Anthony!" The cries are starting to sound hoarse, just as Stephen had left his voice. Anthony finds himself smiling as he moves hard and fast into the body before him, desperate to draw out more of those cries in that deep velvety voice. To push that voice to breaking. 

To push the man to breaking. 

For what purpose? Tony doesn't know. He doesn't care. He just wants to break this being with pleasure until those grey blue eyes are filled with nothing but a reflection of Tony's caramel brown eyes. Until Tony has left his mark permanently upon a body that can vanish into the shadows. 

This isn't the worst way he can think of to go, Tony thinks as he fucks into the man's body and feels his heart rate climb and climb. 

Instead of Le Petite Mort, Stephen can give him La Mort D'Amour. 

As Tony ignores his frantically beating heart, he leans down, forcing the man's body to fold even further so that he can kiss those tasteless lips again. 

'Palladium poisoning. Painful way to die'. Tony hears the echo Ivan Vanko's words. Yeah, Tony thinks. 

La Mort D'Amour is definitely a better alternative. 

~~~ 

Reapers don't sleep. 

But Stephen starts awake to the feeling of something warm and wet being brushed against his skin. 

The moan that escapes his lips is unbidden and Stephen can't quite open his eyes. The corporeal body is heavy and impossible to move. The drain on his power is beyond heavy and he can't even focus enough to try to fade into the shadows. 

"You're awake." Tony's voice says with a tone that Stephen can't even try to parse out. 

"I- I need-" Stephen starts to say as he tries to feel for the shadows. There are none nearby. Even without opening his eyes he can tell that he is vulnerable in the bright lights of wherever he is. 

"What do you need?" There is open concern in that voice now and Stephen struggles his eyes open and he can see that he is back in the bedroom with Tony. The Iron Man suit that had held him hostage stands nearby, gleaming in the bright light. 

"Sh-Shadow." Stephen manages to moan out as he feels his head spin and the pain and need to be something less than this body forms inside of him and demands that he let himself fade. 

He can't. 

Not without the shadows. 

"Why? So you can vanish on me again?" Tony's voice is angry and rightfully so, Stephen thinks as he feels the towel moving over his body still. 

Tony is cleaning him up, making sure that his body is well after the rough sex that had taken place. Stephen hadn't done that. He hadn't stayed to ensure that Tony was well. 

He had simply vanished. 

Stephen doesn't know what will happen if he can't go back to the shadows. To lose this corporeal form. He wonders if he will die again. He wonders if this time, his soul won't be Reaped to be returned to the Mistress. 

There will be no Order with his name upon it. No book for him to fill. Not anymore. All of that had disappeared when he had become what he is now. 

He wonders if his soul will be turn asunder by the Universe to fade into the nothingness that it had once been. 

A quiet voice inside of him asks if that would be so bad. There is no point to his continued existence at any rate right? 

"T-This is not a bad plan, if you mean to cling onto life." Stephen finds himself saying, his voice barely audible. He can't garner the strength to speak properly. He closes his eyes and focuses only on speaking. 

"What?" Tony questions and Stephen finds himself wishing that he could smile. He can't. Even that is a strain on resources he doesn't have. 

"Without the shadows, I can't drop this form. Without the shadows I can't sustain myself. I am the one tasked with Reaping your soul. No other will come for you. You will continue to live until your soul frays and shatters." Stephen murmurs out and he feels Tony leaning in close to catch each word. As he does, he casts a shadow. 

Stephen could use that moment, that little bit of shadow to slip back into the darkness where he belongs. 

He doesn't. 

"Wait. If I keep the lights on, you, what? Die?" Tony asks, incredulous. Had Stephen the energy, he would have chuckled. He doesn't. 

"A few more moments, I imagine and you shall see what happens to Reapers forced into the light." Stephen tells him and there is a faint bitterness in his voice that Stephen doesn't quite recognise in his own voice. 

Not that he can hear himself clearly. He feels the first strings of himself starting to fray apart and though the shadow still remains from Tony's body, Stephen gives into the way the universe itself begins to pull him apart. 

This wasn't the worst way to become nothing, Stephen thinks as the coherent thoughts that he had struggled to hold onto fade and he feels the emptiness starting to claim him. 

Not that bad at all. 

~~~ 

"JARVIS. Kill the lights." He's going to regret that. 

He is. 

But fuck it. Tony Stark may be a lot of things but a cold hearted murderer wasn't one of them. He can't. As the darkness falls in the room in the absence of light and the cool body that had been under his hands fade until he touches the bed sheets, Tony finds himself sighing. 

He's not sure whether or not he is sighing with relief or with something else. Fear? Resignation? 

He's not sure. 

But in the darkness of the room, Tony looks down at where Stephen had been just a moment ago. 

He was going to regret this, wasn't he? 

Maybe, maybe not, he thinks as he sighs and flops onto the bed. 

Fuck it. 

~~~ 

The whisky burns it's way down Tony's throat. 

It has been four nights since he had last seen Stephen. Since he'd fucked the man or Grim Reaper or whatever he may be and almost accidentally killed the man. 

The image of that pale body flickering, as if fading from reality itself had been horrifying. The weakness in that velvety deep voice that he had enjoyed had been... difficult to listen to. 

Not just to hear, but to listen to. 

But now he got the distinct feeling that he had made a horrible, horrible mistake. The screen doesn't lie. 

That's science and technology. 

Palladium toxicity level: 100% 

The reading says and yet, Tony is breathing. He is living. But it doesn't feel right. There is that odd emptiness, that odd haze over everything that makes everything feel wrong. 

Tony doesn't get the joy he used to as he works on his inventions and his creations. The first taste of coffee when he wakes up in the morning used to be jarring and hot and perfect in it's bitter way. He doesn't taste it. He doesn't feel it. 

The whisky, even now, as it burns it's way down his throat and warms his stomach, doesn't fill his mouth with the taste of malt and wheat and alcohol. 

Maybe he's already dead and he just doesn't know it. Tony's not sure. 

But this doesn't feel much like life. 

"I should have taken you before you started to break." The soft velvety voice that comes from the shadows doesn't surprise Tony. He merely turns to look towards where the voice is coming from. 

Tony's kept the house as dark as possible over the last few days. He hadn't felt the warmth of the sunlight against his skin anyway, so what was the point? Besides, he had hoped that Stephen was still around and that he will emerge from the shadows like this. 

"What do you mean?" Tony asks because it seems like something he should be doing. Even that curiosity that had driven the majority of his adult life was starting to fade from him and he wonders what will be left behind, if anything at all. 

"Your soul is starting to fray. You are losing bits of yourself." Stephen says and though his velvety voice as smooth as it had been the first night they met, Tony can see that the Grim Reaper was anything but. Even though Tony can see him, there is something almost transluscent about the appearance that is disconcerting. 

"Is that why you came? So you can Reap my Soul?" Tony's voice is mocking as he says those words, but the Reaper doesn't laugh or react in anyway, actually, his piercing blue grey eyes simply look into Tony's caramel ones. 

"No. I will not Reap your soul without your consent and your desire." Stephen tells him and Tony raises his eyebrow at that. 

"Right, so you do that often? Fuck people you're supposed to kill and then wait for them to agree for you to kill them?" Tony's tone is scathing. The Reaper doesn't react. 

"No. You're the first I have... touched. Spoken to. Given the option to." Stephen tells him and Tony lets those words mull over in his head as he looks over the being. 

There is something fragile, vulnerable about him now that doesn't quite fit the arrogant, aloof features of his face. He is standing back, away from the nearest dim light near Tony, half shrouding himself in the shadows. 

"Then why give me the choice?" Tony asks and Stephen takes one step back further into the shadows as if he wants to hide in them or simply fade away again. Tony narrows his eyes. 

"Because i made the mistake of approaching you. You suffer now as a result of my mistake. But if your desire to live outweighs the pain of your current existence, than I will leave you until your soul fades." Stephen tells him and Tony frowns at that. 

Fade? 

That doesn't sound too good. Besides, this? Whatever this not quite life, life is? Tony doesn't like it. He doesn't _feel_ alive and if you can't feel alive, then what the fuck was the point of living? 

But there was the matter of Rhodey and him not quite having gotten used to the suit yet. Then there was Pepper and all the help that she needed to completely settle into the CEO chair and- 

"The decision is your's." Stephen tells him. 

Well, Tony really rather that it wasn't. 

~~~ 

Mistress Death, as the Reapers called her looks down upon the black mary-janes donning her feet. She shuffles them as she looks at the two souls before her. 

The ruffles of her black dress and the numerous layers and laces and frills rustle softly as she swings her feet back and forth upon her throne. 

She curls the long black curls of her hair in a finger as she fights the annoyance and the sigh that threatens. 

She had _liked_ Stephen Strange. 

That's why she had given him his memories back. Had allowed him to take on the long term projects so that he can stay in the mortal world for longer periods of time than the less favoured ones. 

She had liked the stubborn nature of his soul and the spark that most souls didn't have. He had that something that made him special. A cut above the rest. In another dimension, in another world, he would have become the most powerful sorcerer to have walked the planet. 

But in this one, he had died and his soul had come into her care. She had healed it, she had polished it and she had turned him into the most powerful Grim Reaper that she had created out of her lost souls. 

As a Reaper, he had been everything that she had wanted him to be, though not quite. He had lost that bit of spark, that bit of something special that had made him interesting. 

That's why she had given him the Order to take Anthony Edward Stark's life. She had wanted to see if the bright spark of Tony's soul could ignite something in Stephen's. 

This isn't the result that she had expected nor desired. 

But in the end, this too had been the path that these souls had been destined to walk, hadn't it? 

Both souls are in a sorry state. 

Frayed, broken and just a moment away from shattering completely. 

In the end, Stephen hadn't been able to Reap Tony's soul. Even when the man had asked for Stephen to do so. Stephen hadn't been able to summon the strength within himself to take the man's soul and bring it back to her. 

So he had lingered in the mortal world as had Tony Stark, both living a life that wasn't quite life, in the perpetual state of death, they existed. 

It was but a few weeks, but they had existed in that threshold between life and death until she herself has had to step in before their souls shattered completely. 

They had known it too, she would wager. The stubborn fools. They had known what they were getting themselves into. The permanence of their actions and their situation. 

But they hadn't strayed from the path they had put themselves on. 

Fools. 

"What do you intend to do with them?" A soft voice asks from the other side of the vast and empty throne room.

A Reaper, just as strong and just as special as Stephen had been, but not quite, stands before her, his eyes watching the two souls hungrily. 

"Something... nice I think." She says as she pulls the souls towards her as her small hands curl around the frayed souls. 

Yes. Something... nice... 

~~~ 

"What is your job exactly? Aside from making balloon animals?" Tony Stark's scathing voice asks as Stephen's perfect eyebrows go up with incredulity. 

"Protect your reality, douchebag!" He retorts back. 

Grey blue eyes meet caramel browns. 

Somewhere, in the depths of dark emptiness, a child like voice delightfully lets out of a giggle. 

Yes. Something nice indeed. 

~~~ 


End file.
